Breaking a heterosexual (chapter 1)

Broken Will

Eric woke up with the mistaken feeling of having slept too deeply. It wasn't sleep; it was something thicker. A strange taste in his mouth. A warm fog on his temples, as if he had spent the night submerged.

The first thing he saw was a ceiling he didn't recognize: white, high, slightly cracked in one corner. The second thing: a foreign arm resting on his muscular abdomen, heavy, warm, dangerous.

It took him two seconds to understand that he wasn't in his room.

Three more to realize that he was completely naked under the thin sheet.

And then, just then, someone's breathing behind him. Masculine. Slow. Satisfied.

"Good morning, handsome..." a young voice whispered, snuggling closer to him.

Eric turned his head with a brusque movement. Next to him, a dark-haired, athletic boy, with dark eyes and still-swollen lips, sat up with the typical smile of someone who wakes up after a memorable night.

"What...?" Eric retreated abruptly from the bed until he jumped out of it, with his pulse pounding in his throat. "Who the hell are you...?"

The boy blinked, surprised by the hostility, but didn't lose his calm. He had just spent a perfect and fiery night with a dream boy. His skin seemed to radiate its own heat, smooth, firm, that irresistible mix of a 19-year-old boy and a already-formed man. His broad chest rose and fell agitated, showing the soft tension of the muscles that stretched as if they still held the echo of the effort. His shoulders were wide, round, made to grab and hold; his abdomen, hard but natural, invited fingers to follow the line that went down between his hips, that line that asked to be obeyed and now was about to hide with a pillow.

The neck... God. That strong, masculine neck that made you want to bite. His marked jaw, his half-open lips, still humid, seemed to beg for a slow kiss. His blond and messy hair gave him an air of mischievous boy who knew exactly what he was doing. His legs were slightly apart, relaxed, showing without shame the complete beauty of his nudity. Seeing him like that —open, vulnerable, perfect— provoked in the boy another hot impulse between his legs. It was impossible not to desire him. Impossible not to remember the sound of his breathing accelerating under his mouth, his fingers pressing his back, his body trembling against his own.… And yet, now he seemed… regretful?

"You were very... devoted yesterday. I thought you wouldn't be one of those who regret it."

Eric felt a whip of nausea. He didn't remember anything. Not a drink, not a kiss, not a moment.

"What the hell happened? I... " He didn't finish the sentence.

The boy tilted his head and frowned. Was he really putting on the show of being straight and not remembering having a wild fuck just a few hours ago?

"Are you kidding me?"

Eric swallowed, cold sweat. This had to be a mistake. A grotesque ...